


soyez mon ennemi

by tajador



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tajador/pseuds/tajador
Summary: Paragon of beauty, your end has come.Various Pomefiore stories and musings.
Relationships: Jack Howl/Vil Schoenheit, Jamil Viper/Vil Schoenheit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. le poison me dévore (de vous aimer si fort)

**Author's Note:**

> i am hopelessly enamoured by vil schönheit's existence. here are some writing experiments from the past few weeks — each chapter is a standalone sequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grimm 053 the lace bodice, the poisonous comb & the apple

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. All fails. Anxiety, he wonders. Fear, but why? His eyes are wide open, yet no light comes through. His pen drops onto his desk for its ink to pool on his notes, spreading at an alarming rate, black consuming all he had written. Coughing, coughing, until he no longer does. Silence. Deaf to the world. Unheard, unseen, alone. Fear, as it had always been.

He's there, he's not, a state of existing without being, touched and carried. Touches that heal, touches that burn, hands he both needed and feared. They undress him, bare him, each layer a part of him that comes undone, a weakness exposed to tear down what he had built. Cut open, spread apart, the lace of the corset he had been gifted comes undone.

Light, sounds, words. Seen, Crewel gently holding up his chin, his classmates gathering around them in hushed whispers. Are you alright? Vil answers as he always does. Everything is perfect again today.

* * *

* * *

There's no need to be so gentle, he insists. But Jack's touches are unlike any other, claws like feathers, calluses like down in Vil's hair. They're memories of another life, another world, but they anchor Vil to this new reality, this world he fought to break into. His mirror could very well be a picture frame of times long past, sitting compliant, with the only one who had always stood by his side brushing his hair, comb of gold at his hand.

The reflection blurs, darkens. Jack. Come back. Stay here. Don't go. Jack. He wants to reach out for it, to hold onto it, but it disappears, as does all else.

Jack.

Don't be scared. It's his own voice. Reassuring both himself and his old friend. Everything is perfect again today.

* * *

* * *

White as snow, his hands that tremble before growing too weak to hold onto the fruit. Oh, how ungraceful. Surely that will stain the carpet.

Red as blood, which he coughs, retching as he had always refused to, sick, sick, sick.

Black as ebony, the stains that darken his vision, his mind, his gem. This is the last time. He falls to his knees, angry, disgusted, tired. Was it worth it? Are you satisfied?

Vil doesn't hit the ground. An arm around his waist, a hand grasping his jaw. Beauty. Schönheit. جميل. Those whose names convey a truth to reach even as they're told to dirty their hands, in the fields, in the shadows.

Jamil makes the poison his, from one tongue to another. Perfect, as they both wish to be, as they were told they would never be.


	2. je veux valser au bord du vide (avant de tomber)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember parabellum

Jamil dances and dances, hesitant at first, not quick to forget a lifetime spent hiding his soul, but Kalim holds out his hand and for once Jamil takes it not because he has to, but because he wants to.

Sand glitters under the oasis sun with each kick of his feet, sweat beading and trickling down his skin, his limbs now untied and moving exactly as he wants them to, no longer willing to settle for second best. His body which had been consumed by hatred but a few hours ago is now free to express passion, identity, individuality.

Kalim laughs, cheers, trips over his own feet, and it's Floyd who catches him, because Jamil no longer has to live in his shadow. They're joined by the other students in no time, each praise and cheer like music to Jamil's ears, lyrics to guide his movements as he allows himself some bliss for the first time in forever.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Epel dances and dances, every single inch of his body screaming at him to stop yet not any louder than Vil's own shouts, each clap and order forcing them to continue moving, straining, hurting.

_All for the sake of beauty._

What beauty was there in swollen ankles, bursting veins, broken nails? Not a smile could be seen within the lesson hall, Vil's orders the only sound to cover whines and sobs, the faint classical music a backdrop to their pain.

Epel no longer dances.

He runs, as far as his bleeding feet would take him, he runs, knowing there is no place to escape to.


	3. que sont les yeux des hommes quand les siens me regardent (et ils brûlent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grimm 053 the red-hot iron shoes

_Does it hurt?_ The wolf asks.

 _Very much_ , The beautiful one replies as tears fill his eyes.

 _Then why don't you take them off?_ The wolf does not judge, only questions.

 _They will laugh at me._ The beautiful one's damp porcelain cheeks glitter as snow.

 _Who will?_ The wolf, in turn, feels tears cloud his eyes.

 _The people. Our village. They think I can't make it._ The beautiful one resumes his dance, limbs trembling.

 _I know you will. You can do anything._ The wolf clenches his fangs.

 _Not as I am now._ The beautiful one smiles a smile painted with nothing but sadness.

 _I'll shield you from their words._ The wolf reaches for the beautiful one's hand.

 _Their eyes would still see what they want to see._ The beautiful one feels the burn swell up his feet and spread across his legs.

 _But can't you see yourself as I see you?_ The wolf's hand remains empty, untouched, unreached for.

 _And how is that?_ The beautiful one allows the burn to meld his flesh, dancing to the rhythm of his ragged breaths and wailing muscles.

 _You know the answer to everything I ask you. You're always right, even when the adults tell you you aren't. You don't let anyone tell you what to do... Not even me._ The wolf looks forward even as he's blinded by tears, faithful, true. _And you're the fairest of them all._

The beautiful one does not answer, only dances.

The wolf readily takes the beautiful one's hand into his.

 _Will you stay here?_ The beautiful one asks as his shaky fingers lace between the wolf's.

 _Always._ The wolf answers.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you :) my twst twitter is [@mrromrro](https://twitter.com/mrromrro?s=21). expect thousands of pomefiore stories on there once d*sney starts feeding us...


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